


Echoes in the Glass

by iluv2eat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Artificial Intelligence, Computers, Drug Use, Hacking, London, London Underground, M/M, Mystery, but every is in suits, dressed like the great gatsby, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluv2eat/pseuds/iluv2eat
Summary: What Commander Harry Potter of the Auror Force thought was a typical overdose turns out to be much more complex when the dead man is found to be in possession of the missing blueprints to a new chip design that allows Sentient Intelligences, a highly advanced form of artificial intelligence, to control individual components of a cybernetic body.His investigation soon runs into a tangled knot of complications involving the slums of the Underground, the corrupt elite living above, and a conspiracy that threatens to break out in revolution. Harry is forced to turn for help from Draco Malfoy, an enigmatic cyber expert who is hiding secrets of his own.In an alternate London modeled after interwar Britain and characterized by rampant digitalization, Harry and Draco must learn to trust each other as they work together to prevent violence from engulfing their world and navigate their growing feelings for each other.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Echoes in the Glass

The sky was choked with hovercars and flyers and neon lights from the city’s own buildings. Gold and silver threaded the view, overlaid by red and green from the sensors. Red for unlikely routes, green for the paths predicted that the drug runners will take. 

Harry blinked. As his lids flickered, the image changed, zooming in to the section of green he was closest to. There was nothing remotely matching the vehicle’s description that Harry had been provided.

Hedwig, he thought, are you sure that this is correct? 

His SI, or Sentient Intelligence, virtual assistant responded with a thought that had a tinny cast, her way of expressing disapproval. My analysis is based on the ease of traffic, she said, the shortest way out to the ports, and the likelihood that a vehicle with the characteristics of what was provided to us would have in standing out. 

Harry scowled. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to be patient. 

Tap into the traffic cam eyes, Harry told Hedwig. Can you filter the visuals from them with the info from the Auror database? Match facial recognition with the license plates. 

And then screen for vehicles matching the description? Done. 

Harry always marveled at Hedwig’s processing power. Without it, his job would be difficult. 

Difficult indeed. You wouldn’t be able to do your job with me. 

Cocky, too. An attribute Harry would have scarcely thought apt for a computer, but Sentient Intelligence programs had both the self-aware of a living being and immense calculating speed that dwarfed a human’s. 

Advances in artificial computing had split the technology in two groups. One was termed Autonomous Intelligence, which were capable of independent action but relied on inputs, and Sentient Intelligence that had the ability to perform intuitive leaps like a human. The latter was by far more effective but was stratospheric in price and required constant maintenance. 

But in this digitalized and interconnected age, it was crucial for anyone who wished to rise in the world to have a SI assistant. The vast influx of data needed the dedicated attention and analysis that went beyond what one man was able to provide, as the SI connected man to all the resources provided by the world wide Web. One that linked everything from the smart-threads in his trousers to the monitors maintaining order for the traffic grid.

His left ear crackled into life.

“Commander, everything is negative on our side. They must be in your sector.”

“Understood, Finnegan.” 

They were on the hunt. Weeks of surveillance and operational planning for his team to finally have a single lead on the most notorious drug runners in London. 

And then the news had leaked. 

Harry wasn’t sure who, though the Ministry nowadays resembled not so much a sieve as a broken roof. Half the employees were on the take, or at least had uncomfortably close relationships with the criminals in this city. It was understandable, but Harry didn’t like the idea of someone he worked with being untrustworthy.

It did mean that here he was now, freezing in the bitter cold, while trying to track down one single car, trying to find it in the crush of London’s insane traffic. It was like fishing for a needle that had dropped into the ocean.

Harry was cold and in poor spirits. Though the thermal-tech of his clothes held the chill at bay, his exposed hands and face still felt the brunt of wind. They were one of the few unmodified parts of his body, and as such, they were much more sensitive to the environment. 

He resisted the urge to rub his wrist. They were covered by the shirt cuffs, pinned together by cufflinks that pulsed a steady glow indicating Hedwig’s status. However, if Harry closed his eyes, he could just about imagine the ghostly tingles of his wrist socket connecting to the fiber-optics which ran through his body. 

Harry shook his head. He was being overly fanciful, and he needed to keep all his wits about him if he wanted this night to be a success. His team kept a watch on the entire city, and the SI analysts kept up a constant stream of projections where the drug runners would be. Every sign pointed to his section being where they would most likely be. 

Hedwig’s voice intruded. One vehicle matches the parameters set, she informed him. Permission to display enhanced visuals.

Alright.

Harry’s sight changed. It now took the perspective of a single, anonymous traffic cam, on in thousands, in Covent Garden. It showed a single hovercar, old and dilapidated, one among many. The car sped along in the air, following the breakneck pace set by the traffic grid.

The distance from the cam was too great. Harry only saw two dark-haired figures in the front, one of them the driver.

Their car matches the description provided by our research and I have matched it to the database, Hedwig reported, as though anticipating Harry’s doubts. The owner is one Mundungus Fletcher, having been arrested multiple times on petty crimes

Well, Harry supposed a tenuous lead was better than no lead at all. 

He stood up, cracking his neck, when Harry noticed a distorted shape. It was pressed to the driver’s neck, angled so that anyone passing by the window would miss it. It was only by the good fortune of the traffic cam’s angle that Harry managed to spot it at all.

Hedwig, what are the chances that the thing at the driver’s neck is a gun? he asked. He didn’t bother waiting for her answer, buttoning up his great overcoat and cinching his spectacles tight.

You already know that it’s more than likely it’s a gun, Hedwig responded disapprovingly. But to answer your question, my analysis suggests eighty-eight percent, based on the shape and the way it is held.

Harry almost didn’t hear her. The roar of wind filled his ears – he soared through the sky, hands barely on the handle, the Firebolt obeying his slightest touch.

It was the newest model of the hoverbikes that law enforcement and gangsters emphasizing speed favored. Nicknamed brooms because of the resemblance, it only had a single engine capable of vertical and short take-off and landing, an uncomfortable seat, and nothing else. They were tricky to fly and difficult to control – Harry had taken to it like a bird to flight. It was one of the few vehicles that SIs were unable to pilot, requiring human instinct and creativity that computers so far have been unable to emulate. 

It was exhilarating, to be free in the tumult above London, to look down and see the dots of figures moving, the buildings fiery with life, to watch and swoop down like an avenging angel.

Suspect car picking up speed, Hedwig said, breaking into Harry’s enjoyment. She added, almost apologetically: their current velocity would leave you behind if you do not accelerate. 

Understood. 

Harry primed the propulsion – he flew straight into the honking mass of humanity, swerving to avoid a lorry carrying aether tanks and industrial maintenance drones. Angry blares blasted Harry from all sides – he maneuver the Firebolt sixty degrees to his left, out of an incoming red Moris Major cloud car. 

You don’t need to go this fast, Hedwig said in Harry’s ears. You can cut back forty percent and still catch up to the suspects. Not to mention you’re breaking the speed limit. 

Another benefit of these brooms was that they were not chipped to the traffic grid, which could cut in and break a car that it found flouting its rules.

I’m an Auror, Harry told Hedwig. Traffic grid rules don’t apply to me.

That wasn’t strictly true, as Hedwig reminded him. But it didn’t matter; Harry’s spectacles, switching to avionics mode, displayed the course of the suspect car. It was picking up speed. 

It was too difficult to fly with his vision being clouded by data. Harry needed all his concentration to pilot the Firebolt. The spectacles provided a solution that didn’t strain his attention, and he had gotten used to wearing them, despite the odd looks from others in an age when unimpaired and enhanced vision could be achieved with a single operation. 

Harry increased power, banking to the left to slip out of the grid. He would be close enough to the suspects soon.

Hedwig, can we disable the car? In case we don’t reach it in time.

I can put in a request to the Bureau of Traffic in the Department of Transportation, Hedwig said. But it would likely take a few days to clear, even with high priority.

Harry sighed. Damn bureaucracy and their layers of paperwork. Pushing against that inertia was too much effort. Hedwig, use the Immobulus Protocol.

That’s only for emergencies. Hedwig sounded stern.

This is an emergency, Harry said. This could be the biggest drug bust in London this year. 

Very well, Hedwig replied. Activating Immobulus Protocol for the suspect car.

The Immobulus Protocol should use the backdoors the Aurors had into the other departments’ networks and send a signal telling the traffic grid to kill the suspect car’s chip, leaving it immobile.

Nothing happened. The information in Harry’s spectacles continued to show the car moving.

Hedwig, what happened? Did it not go through?

The car appears to have the built-in control chip disabled, Hedwig said. She paused. Increasing likelihood of suspect car being the target to ninety-nine percent, she said.

Harry didn’t need a computer analysis to tell him that. It was highly illegal for vehicles of any sort to disable their tracking and control chips. Even if this car was not carrying the drug runners they wanted, it was in fragrant breach of the law, and needed to be stopped and searched.

His face cut by the wind, Harry ducked and weaved, trying to get through the cars to his target. 

He was in sight of it when it suddenly turned.

Hover traffic was highly automated, and most of the vehicles were driven by AI that heeded the signals from the grid monitor. Any deviations caused chaos. Two hansoms crashed into each other with an awful screech. A truck braked to avoid hitting a building, and its cargo of silken clothing flooded everywhere, fluttering like angry birds and blocking the windshield of the cars. A cacophony of alarms, horns, and shouts ran into each other as the pileup continued. 

Target is leaving, Hedwig said. Going off grid into pedestrian zones. 

Harry cursed, ducking under a piece of metal, pushing up the engine. He knew the Firebolt could go at least five times this speed, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to control it. 

G-forces slammed into his chest. Harry gritted his teeth. He could hold on; his body augmentations allowed him to handle the additional compression that squeezed the air from his lungs, but it was still every bit as painful. 

It didn’t matter how he felt – Harry focused on the exhilaration soaring through his chest, the adrenalin that pumped through his veins. It was like a drug, one more potent and headier than anything the runners or dealers could come up with.

This was what he wanted: the thrill, the chase, the tightening nerves. He loved this part of his work, far more than the politicking and the paperwork. Sometimes he wished he had remained in the rank and file so that he could be in the field, instead of passing his boards. 

But he couldn’t remain an Operative forever. Harry had to move on with his life, no matter how reluctantly. It was the nature of the world. The commensurate salary increase didn’t hurt either.

Harry avoided a sleek racer with a move that left it spinning in midair for a second. He passed by the driver’s angry face and suppressed a grin. That man had been pushing at the edge of safe driving anyways. Served him right to be taught a lesson. 

Pulling up, Harry lifted out of the grid, over the hoods of the cars. 

Target straight ahead, Hedwig reported. His spectacles helpfully highlighted it. It still tore at a breakneck rate. Harry endeavored to match it. 

Hedwig, broadcast for them to stop.

She complied, then responded: they received the message, but they did not acknowledge. 

Harry cursed. Hunting like this was not a solution; his Firebolt had greater speed, but it was too crowded an environment for him to go full-throttle. He could chase the car out of the grid, but this was London and the urban sprawl stretched for many more miles. He couldn’t keep the pace for too long either; the Firebolt might be the fastest vehicle, but it lacked the power that the target’s more conventional engine had. 

He had no choice.

Careful to maintain one grip on the Firebolt’s handle, Harry reached for his holster. His fingers touched the cool chrome of his wand. He drew it out – and fired at the car.

A burst of concentrated photons jetted out, hitting one of the propulsors. The car skidded, careening –

Then righted itself. A secondary propulsor stabilized the car, and it continued, at the same pace before Harry had shot at it. 

How many surprises did this car hold? 

An arc of light aimed directly at Harry. Harry turned -- the Firebolt spun – Harry pressed his body as close as possible to minimize the surface area, throwing his weight opposite the motion –

The Firebolt righted. 

Hostile fire detected, Hedwig said.

You think?

I can calibrate your bolts to cancel the car’s shots, Hedwig said, but it would mean that you will not be able to fire anything that might disable its engines. 

Harry tilted suddenly, avoiding the jet of green light that incinerated a traffic monitor. 

There was no other choice. Either Harry ducked and weaved and risked getting hit, or he could return fire but prolong the chase. It was a pity the wand as a weapon could not handle rapid changes in the bolt’s caliber. 

It was useful in other ways, however, to have a gun in the shape of a rod. Made of light composite material, it was a weapon that had multiple settings, from stun to kill to incinerate.

Harry fired at the car again, meeting the green beam that issued from the car. Colors clashed, warring with each other and setting off radioactive reactions that left the air scorched.

They were out of the traffic grid now. Harry pressed the thrusters. He was almost neck in neck with the car.

Call for backup, Hedwig, he told her. 

Already done. You need to be careful. We are in the middle of Covent Garden now, and friendly fire is a higher danger here.

It was true. There were no more hovercrafts, but the number of people walking had increased to a swarm. There were screams -- the car barreled towards the columned portico of the Royal Opera House. Well-dressed attendees scattered like flocks of birds at the incoming vehicle. At this rate, the velocity made it a deadly projectile that could level the entire building.

The car braked. Its driver knew that the ones in the car had little chance of surviving such an  
Impact. 

There were two men. The one who came out of the driver’s side limped bandy-legged towards the step. Closing in, Harry saw that the man was short and grubby, with a large bald patch on top of his head. 

The other had a long, pale, twisted face. Burly, he nonetheless moved with much more grace than the driver and whipped out his own wand. He fired at Harry, who had leapt off the Firebolt.

Harry dropped to ground, rolling out of range. He sprang up again, sprinting with augmented speed towards the front of the Opera House. A breeze grazed his ear; Harry realized that the shot had been much closer than he thought. It came so close that it had burnt off some of his hair. 

He had reached the pale, twisted man. Before the man raised his wand again, Harry’s booted leg kicked out. A crack, as Harry missed, and hit the marble step. Spiderweb-like fissures appeared.

The man tried again, his hand coming down in an arc –

Harry grabbed the man’s hand, forcing the shot to go wide. It hit not two inches away from a man in tails, who fell back, his opera hat flying off. His companion, similarly attired, shifted to shield him. Harry caught a glimpse of gray eyes before turning back.

Reinforcements were here now. Aurors in their distinctive red tunic surrounded the Opera House, their wands pointed at the Harry, who now clasped the man’s hands in an iron vise.  
“All right, sir?” It was Finnegan. He spoke into the concealed wristcomm. “The perimeter is secured.”

“Anyone injured?”

“None, but some need a change of underpants.” Finnegan grinned at Harry. “Only two of them, sir? Surely the great Harry Potter doesn’t need our help taking only two down.”

“Less chatter, more help,” Harry panted. The man was still struggling, trying to get out of Harry’s grip. He was strong, even compared with Harry’s bio-enhancements. “Have you booked the other one.”

“Yes,” Finnegan said, cuffing the man with a smart blow to the back of the head. The man went limp.

“Thank you.” Harry rubbed his wrists as Finnegan led the prisoners away. “Always helpful at the last minute.”

“You caused quite a commotion, sir,” Finnegan said. “Your chase is all over the evening news.”

Harry winced. Shacklebolt, the Head of the Auror Force and Harry’s immediate superior, disliked publicity of any sort. Fitting, for a national security agency that operated mostly in the shadows. That meant Harry was about to receive a lecture when he returned to the office.

“Say, isn’t that the Minister?”

Harry followed Finnegan’s pointed finger. 

Shit. It was indeed. It was the man who had narrowly missed being eviscerated by the drug runner’s shot. Britannian Minister Cornelius Fudge, a portly man who often appeared on the news, touting his administrations’ achievements, particularly with the suppression of crimes and the unrest in the Underground. 

What caught Harry’s attention was the man besides Fudge.

He was of medium height and slender build, pale and blond and attractive in that cut-glass aristocratic way. He had the most striking pair of grey eyes that Harry had ever seen – the pair of grey eyes that had looked at Harry.

Harry ignored the twinges of desire that flared like sparks of electricity. He brushed back his hair, trying to affect an air of casual pleasantry 

“Harry!” Fudge came over, with a great disingenuous beam on his face. “How are you? What – what is going on? Are you alright?”  
As far as Harry was aware, Fudge had less interest in Harry’s well-being than the perception that they were friendly. It helped Fudge’s political standing to surround himself with recipients of the Order of the Imperator Britannia.

Fudge had always affected an avuncular warmth for Harry in the few times Harry had accepted the invitations to the formal functions the Ministry threw to ‘honor its heroes.’ 

Harry fixed a smile on his face. 

“You’re not hurt, are you, Minister?” With the exception of being bareheaded, Fudge had nary a scratch on him. Like he had was just attending the opera, in fact. Personally, Harry thought it would do some good for these politicians to see some real action and experience the implications of all their talk on being tough on crime. 

Fudge looked uncertain, not knowing whether to project the genial confidence for all the cams around them or answer Harry’s question honestly. 

Fudge was saved from replying by the man with the entrancing gray eyes. 

“Of course we’re not alright, you bloody fool,” Grey Eyes snapped. “You could have killed us. Why couldn’t you have activated that car’s control chip earlier?”

Not so attractive now. Harry stared back at Grey Eyes, striving for a professional tone. “The control chip was disabled. The car couldn’t be stopped except manually,” Harry said. “Sir,” he added the honorific like an afterthought. 

Grey Eyes scowled at Harry’s attitude. 

“It’s extremely difficult to disable them,” he said, almost musingly. “The chips are protected by a series of firewalls that should resist all attempts to hack them. Not to mention that they’re tied in to so many of the car’s systems and the Web that removing them would do more damage to the car. Most criminals simply try to shroud the signals from the traffic grids.”

“We have ways to penetrate those shrouds,” Harry said, taken aback that Grey Eyes knew that. From Grey Eyes’ appearance, one couldn’t see anything apart from a rich socialite, albeit one that was stunningly handsome, like a work of filigreed silver. Harry certainly hadn’t expected the man to be so familiar with hovercars and their web-link components.

Harry must not have hidden the surprise on his face very well, because Grey Eyes smiled faintly.

“It’s an interest of mine,” he said. 

Harry wanted to pursue this intriguing avenue of inquiry when Fudge, seemingly recovered, intervened.

“Ah, forgive me for my appalling lack of manners. Let me introduce you two. This,” he gestured to Harry, “is Commander Harry Potter of the Auror Force. One of our rising stars and its next Head.”

“There’s still a Deputy Head in the line of succession before me, sir,” Harry said, disliking how Fudge’s statement will only fuel more speculation and interoffice rivalry between him and McLaggen, the aforementioned Deputy Head. 

“And this is Draco Malfoy,” Fudge continued, acting as though he hadn’t heard a word of what Harry had said. “He’s a dear family friend.”

Malfoy … the name rang a bell, but it escaped Harry where he had heard of it. Harry managed a polite nod to the man, who regarded him coolly.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Commander,” Malfoy said finally, after a stretch of time had passed. “It’s a relief knowing we can all sleep safe at night with you and men like you out on duty.”

Malfoy spoke with a sardonic curl, and Harry suppressed the urge to retort with something nasty. That would make the day for all the tabloid reporters watching. “Auror in Shouting Matching With Socialite at Opera.” Harry shuddered, imagining Shacklebolt’s face at the headline and the inevitable lecture he would have to sit through.

“Sir.” Finnegan came up, saving Harry from the need to make a reply. “We’ve taken the two back to HQ. The car’s impounded, too. Roughly 11,000 galleons of Elixir we found too.”

Harry blanched. That was a quarter of a year’s supply in London for the drug. 

Fudge and Malfoy were shocked, too. 

“That’s … quite a bust,” Malfoy murmured, the mockery in his voice gone. 

“That’s our Harry,” Fudge cried, clapping Harry heartily on the shoulder. Harry knew Fudge was probably thinking of ways to claim credit somehow at tomorrow’s presser. “We can definitely count on you to keep our streets safe at night.”

Harry turned back to Finnegan. “Have Dolohov and Pettigrew revealed their source?”

“Pettigrew and Dolohov?” That was Malfoy. He still sounded dazed, but the sharpness that he had displayed earlier was back.

“Two of the biggest drug runners in London,” Harry explained. Then he wanted to smack himself. Malfoy was a civilian and had no need to know this information. Not to mention he shouldn’t be revealing any facts about the case before the press conference.  
But somehow Harry had an urge to impress on Malfoy that, yes, despite Malfoy’s sarcasm, Malfoy and his kind were able to sleep safe at night because Harry and his men risked their lives in the streets. 

And from Elixir too. It was the most addictive, deadliest narcotic in London. It was begun as a craze among partying youths and had quickly spread to the general populace. Its effect was brutal, debilitating for both the body and the mind. It was part of the general rot eating away at the city, fueling a rise in crime and poverty. 

To Harry’s pleasure, Malfoy didn’t make any smart comment, but neither did he look suitably appreciative. Malfoy’s brows furrowed in an unfathomable expression that Harry didn’t know what to make of. 

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Harry had hoped for. 

Which was what? — gratitude? Awe? The emotion on Malfoy’s face looked rather like fear. 

Malfoy recovered himself quickly, smoothing over his features like linen being ironed. 

“I suppose I should congratulate you on your big coup,” he said, his voice low. There was the slightest hint of amusement, though the edge was gone now. “Eleven thousand galleons — that’s an absolute fortune.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Malfoy was making fun of him again. Eleven thousand galleons was an absolute fortune, when a ranking Ministry official earned perhaps three hundred per annum and a flat in the fashionable part of central London was three thousand. 

However, Malfoy’s clothes indicated he might actually regard eleven thousand galleons as paltry change. Malfoy’s opera hat, now held in his surprisingly bare hands, looked as though it was worth more than Harry’s weekly stipend. The cut and material of Malfoy’s evening jacket must cost more than Harry’s savings. 

Harry rarely ever felt envious over material possessions, coming from the background he did, and understanding that the vast majority lived in circumstances far more penurious than Harry did. But Harry experienced a surge of anger that so many were starving and forced to seek shelter in the slums of Underground while men like Malfoy and Fudge pranced around in their finery. 

“Hell?” Fudge waved a hand. “Harry, are you alright?”

Harry realized he was staring at Malfoy. With an effort, he pulled his attention to Fudge. “Yes, Minister?”

“I was saying you deserve special commendations,” Fudge said. “After all, you did seize a massive amount of Elixir, and saved our lives in the process. I’m sure Mr. Malfoy would agree.”

“Yes.” Malfoy’s eyes glittered as though laughing as some private joke. “I would.”

“Then it’s settled!” Fudge exclaimed. “Our savior — Harry Potter! Our thanks are in order. I’ll arrange with matters with Shacklebolt later to make it official.”

Malfoy’s eyes met Harry’s behind Fudge’s back. They were bright, dancing with entertainment at the spectacle of it all. There was no trace of that earlier shadow when Finnegan had mentioned Pettigrew and Dolohov’s names. 

Harry wondered if he had imagined it. It wouldn’t make sense for someone like Malfoy to be acquainted with thugs and drug dealers. Malfoy appeared more the type to be intimates with the luminaries of the holosceen and the opera, politicians and celebrities, whose lives provided grist for the rumor mill that the tabloids reported on breathlessly and that the public craved. It was probably how Harry had come across Malfoy’s name. Harry resolved to have Hedwig run a search as soon as he was free of these two. 

He found himself tuning Fudge out in favor of studying Malfoy. Beyond the clothes and the physical form, there was a hardness in Malfoy’s eyes, one that reflected what must be his inner thoughts behind the polite smile. It was a flintiness, like the blade of a knife, which threw off flashes of disdained enjoyment as Malfoy observed Fudge attempting to make political capital out of the event.

Despite his dislike of the man, Harry could not tear himself away from looking at Malfoy. The man was fascinating; not only because of his appearance, but because he exuded an air of casual disdain, an arrogance that Harry knew came almost inbred with this particular class of upper class. Yet Harry didn’t find that off-putting – it was refreshing, to be challenged instead of deflected or avoided. 

“I should return to HQ,” Harry said finally. He extricated himself from further conversation with Fudge, who looked disappointed that Harry was leaving. The reporters had finished with the other opera-goers and the junior officers and were finally making their way past Fudge’s security. “Shacklebolt will want a full report.”

“Surely you deserve to take a break for the night,” Fudge protested. “Come and join me for some refreshments at Whitehall. Of course, we’ll have to say a few words to the media first.”

“I’m sure Commander Potter is needed to ensure our streets are safe,” Malfoy said in a smooth drawl. “We can spare him the pleasure of our company – after all, how else will we be able to walk through London without fearing that we’ll be attacked by gangs?”

“Yes….” Fudge seemed put out at Malfoy’s intervention. Harry was, too. The cold, cultured quality of Malfoy’s words were slightly sour, but Harry couldn’t deny that it saved him from Fudge’s invitation. “Mr. Malfoy is right. You’re needed at your job. There’s been a high increase in crime lately. We’ll need to unveil new policies soon.”

Harry bowed his leave. As he turned, he swore he saw Malfoy give him a wink.

“How was that, sir?” Finnegan asked, coming up to join Harry. “What did the Minister want?”

“Oh, a photo op to show that he was involved somehow in such a dramatic scene at one of London’s premier buildings,” Harry said. “How were things on your end?”

“Oh, it went fine. Caught a few reporters trying to sneak past the cordon. Was that Draco Malfoy with him?”

“You know him?” 

“He’s a noted recluse. Once in a while, there comes an article from those society columnists wondering whether he died or not.” Finnegan had a disturbing penchant for consuming the tabloids. “I suppose he just avoids the limelight and the tabloids very well, since he was with the Minister just now. Don’t blame him, really.”

“What? Why?” Harry failed to keep the curiosity out of his voice. “I thought a man like him would love to be on the front page.”

“Well, he’s been hounded by them since his father – that’s Lucius Malfoy – was arrested as part of the attempted coup by Riddle all those years ago. It’s surprising that the Minister would even be with him, though I suppose the Malfoy wealth might have something to do with it. The Minister’s up for reelection next month after all, and elections are expensive. And there was that unfortunate business with the kidnapping when Malfoy the younger was a child. That’s probably what leads Malfoy to avoid the public eye so much.” Finnegan nodded, satisfied with his own psychological profile on a man he had only ever read about. 

Harry remembered Riddle all too well. Tom Riddle, once one of their best and brightest, the youngest ever Auror Head. Riddle had launched an uprising seven years ago, intent on seizing power for himself. It was at the final siege of the Tower of London, when Harry had only been a junior officer with the Aurors, that he had been injured. He touched the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, the only outward remnants of the battle. 

When he had woken up, everything had changed. Harry supposed he should thank modern medicine for its efficacy. Sometimes, however, he wondered this new lease on life was truly a blessing.

“I wouldn’t think the media cared about something that happened so long ago,” Harry said lightly, more to change his own line of thoughts than actually caring about the psyche of the media. “They have the attention span of a magpie. They move on to the next shiny thing as soon as they see it.”

“Maybe. But Malfoy’s been the subject of their breathless coverage for years.” Finnegan frowned. “Although I haven’t seen anything on the Web about him in a long time, come to think of it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “We need to return to HQ. No doubt Shacklebolt’s already heard about this now, judging by the way all those cams were there.”

Finnegan winced. “Better you than me that report to him. Or face the press.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Lucky me.” He leveled a stern glance at Finnegan. “That means you’re going to handle all the paperwork.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” Finnegan said glumly. “You know how much I hate paperwork.”

“We can trade, and you brief McLaggen about the case while I fill out the forms,” Harry offered. 

“That’s alright,” Finnegan said quickly. “I can handle a few forms.” He beat a hasty retreat to his own broom. 

“Oh! That reminds me. They need to be filled in triplicate now!” Harry called after him. Finnegan gave him the finger from a distance.

Chuckling to himself, Harry climbed onto his Firebolt. 

We did well today, didn’t we, Hedwig?

Yes, Hedwig replied. We have prevented a massive influx of Elixir. By my estimation, it should result in a 0.3% decrease in violent crimes in the City and a 0.013% decrease in Underground.

Harry frowned. Why so low?

The drugs are only an exacerbating symptom. The root cause of the problem, the underlying social conditions, is still present. It is not something that a simple drug bust, no matter how big, can solve.

Harry sighed. Perhaps he was being naïve in his hopes. I suppose you’re right. 

~~  
Rising high above what used to be the river Thames was the Headquarter for the Auror Force. It was an ugly building, a mishmash of different architectural styles, looking as though a child had piled on both blocks and cylinders haphazardly. It dominated the skyline in this section of the city, though Harry knew that was just the tip of it. Much more of the building extended underground, as a security precaution given the nature of the Auror’s work. 

The outer door closed as soon as Harry walked in. It was a deceptively plain lobby, with scattered couches and no decorations on the walls. There was a smiling lady at the reception desk who greeted Harry pleasantly. 

“I’ve heard about what happened, sir,” she said with a grin. She pointed to her console screen. “WAR HERO APPREHENDS ASSAILANTS AT THE STEP OF THE OPERA.” There were several pictures that captured Harry’s annoyed expression and one of Fudge giving his usual politician’s smile at the camera. There was even a snap of Malfoy with that hauteur that Harry was familiar with by now. “You don’t look half bad in some of these, if I say so myself.”

“Shut it, Padma,” Harry snapped. “Is it too much to hope for that Shacklebolt hasn’t seen these yet?”

“Err …. Well, no. He was the one who sent this particular broadcast to me. I’m to contact their representative to correct some factual errors in their reporting.”

“Which ones?”

“Well – all of them. Apparently, you singlehandedly thwarted an assassination attempt on the Minister that involved a hovercar, a light stylus, and a bottle of champagne.”

Harry grimaced. Shacklebolt won’t be pleased to be dealing with this, especially in the middle of the night. Though Shacklebolt’s bio-enhancements had all but eliminated the need for him to sleep, pumping in steroids and stimulating the nervous system to keep the exhaustion at bay, Harry knew from personal experience that the human body could only withstand so much before it broke down from the artificial treatment. Not for the first time, Harry thought it was perhaps foolhardy to tinker with what nature had already provided.

He took a deep breath. He was feeling the strain himself. He could have Hedwig release some nano-cells to wake himself up, but it always left him hazy and disoriented after the effect wore off. 

“I guess I’ll go in then.” Harry blinked and stifled his yawn. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow?” Padma looked him over with a maternal eye. “He’ll still be here, you know. And you look like you can do with some rest.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Instead of smoothing it, it seemed to have left it even messier. “No, it’s alright. It’s best to get this over with.”

Padma shrugged. “Alright. You know the procedure.”

The true entrance to HQ was behind Padma, through an archway that looked simple to the naked eye. That wasn’t the case; sophisticated SIs monitored every inch of the hall and beyond, capturing every bit of information from heartrate to body heat. Anything that would give the security systems cause for alarm would result in a shutdown of the entire building and activate the deadly laser defenses that would incinerate an intruder. 

Harry placed his wand on the scanner besides the archway and walked through. Hedwig had connected to the Web component that linked HQ and displayed all the generated data in the background.

Harry Potter. Rank: Commander. Age: 25. Height: 5’10. Weight: 140 pounds. Hair: Black. Eyes: Green. Wand: Standard-Issue Ilex Phoenix Caliber. 

It always startled Harry to see himself reduced to a complex set of facts and numbers. He saw the statistics on his cybernetic parts follow, scrolling up in a tiny font that Harry would need to squint to read. 

He didn’t bother. Harry pocketed his wand and grinned at Padma. “All clear. Not carrying any concealed weapons or viruses in my parts.”

“Off you go, then.” She tapped a key on the console. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Harry walked into a long corridor with holo-frames decorating the walls. Some of them showed the view outside the building while others were of swirling abstract art in pastel colors that made Harry slightly queasy. These could be changed to broadcast emergency messages or be used as consoles if the need rose. 

There were offices on both sides, some with people working at their console, hunched over with the light from the screens reflected on their faces, and others with their wrists and base of the neck connected by socket prongs to their Node Chairs, plugged into the Web. They trawled that vast digital universe, searching for any potential threats which may need physical intervention. 

Harry continued on, his footfalls echoing loudly. It was quiet; typically, the building bustled with activity, with couriers and drones running up and down on their errands. At this time in the night, however, few were in. Most were either sleeping peacefully at home or out on patrol. Pity his luck that Harry was in right now. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. 

Shacklebolt’s office was open. Harry walked in to see his superior immersed in a halo of holo-reports. Only his head moved slightly, bobbing one way, then another. 

Harry coughed softly.

“Harry!” The holos faded and Shacklebolt turned his attention to his young officer. “I understand you had a busy night.”

Harry nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth, a yawn might slip out. Even now, Shacklebolt was in his three-piece suit that looked pressed and fresh as though they had just been laundered. Harry suppressed the urge to run his hands down his own waistcoat. 

“While I’m undeniably happy about your achievement, did you have to do it in so obvious a fashion? I’ve had several complaints already about their nerves being jolted out of them when you ran that hovercar into the Opera House.”

“I did no such thing,” Harry said indignantly. “They refused to stop.”

“And I trust you followed all the procedures, yes? Transmitted a cease order to them and tried to cut off their chip?”

“Of course.” In truth, Harry needn’t even bothered. Like all officers under the National Security Department, he was not beholden to the accountability laws that regular Law Enforcement agents had to obey. Shacklebolt, however, liked to make a show of his own people voluntarily following these rules, saying that transparency bred trust with the community. Personally, Harry doubted that – cynicism towards the government went too deep for a superficial demonstration of compliance. “You can check my SI recording, sir,” Harry added. 

Shacklebolt sighed. “Never mind that. What can you tell me about this latest bust? Not what the reports will say, but your impressions of it.”

“Not much, sir. Other than that Dolohov and Pettigrew seemed to have been distributing the supply both in City and Underground. Their agents were less secret when working Underground, which was how we caught wind of their operation to begin with.”

“They probably didn’t think they needed to be discreet Underground.”

It made sense. The Underground was the site of the former London transit system, overran by the homeless and impoverished of the city driven out of their homes. It had become an undercity within a city for those seeking shelter. It was a haven for criminals, where prostitution, gambling, and drug abuse was rampant. The Ministry tried occasionally to purge and relocate the residents, but it proved easier planned than actually executed, and so there existed only the semblance of order. 

“We’re not sure if the source of the Elixir supply is from Underground, sir,” Harry said. “We don’t have the manpower or the trust with their residents to root it out. It was only by chance that one of our agents had spotted a transaction between a dealer and had exercise the presence of mind to track rather than immediately arrest.”

“Yes.” Shacklebolt frowned. “If only they didn’t disdain our efforts at community liaison. We could have created a much more positive working relationship with them had we began our efforts earlier.”

“I don’t think we could have made a difference, sir,” Harry said. “Creating a viable presence in Underground is the purview of the Law Enforcement Agency. We’re not exactly equipped to resolve social problems, are we?”

“No,” Shacklebolt said. “Just deal with them as they arise.” He sat back in his chair. “But enough about interagency politics. What else have you discovered?”

“There’s a mole somewhere, sir,” Harry said, and his voice instinctively pitched low. “Either that or they have spywares in our system that we haven’t found. They knew about our raid and ran. That was why we chased that car through London to Covent Garden.”

Shacklebolt’s face was impassive. “I see. Anything else?”

“There’s been an upsurge in the use of Elixir, sir. As you know, Elixir was originally created to deal with burnout from cyber-immersion in the Web. It forms a neurochemical compound that acts as a relaxant for the center of the brain linking the virtual simulacrum. It makes me think that there must be a corresponding rise in the burnouts too.”

There was silence as Shacklebolt registered what Harry said. Harry waited, wondering how Shacklebolt would receive this analysis. Web burnout was especially prevalent among those with heavy cyberized bodies, which included essentially all of the Auror Force. And the Ministry, for that matter. It was a great danger, one that risked not only psychological, but physiological damage. Elixir was created by a well-meaning neuro-chemist to alleviate the symptoms of that, but ended up being far worse in consequence. 

“We’ll monitor the situation,” Shacklebolt said finally. “If your conjection is true, then it goes beyond what this agency can handle on its own.” He suddenly chuckled. “I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done before I forget. After all, it isn’t every day that you pull a fourth of the city’s drug supply off the streets.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry tried to stifle his yawn. 

“Get some rest, Harry,” Shacklebolt said. He grinned at Harry. “I remember when I was in your shoes. Always on the go, always trying to prove myself. I learned over the years that one can’t advance his station in life until one learns how to take care of himself. You should remember that too, before you learn that lesson the hard way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and another thing. Have a cyber shrink conduct a checkup. It’s been a while since your last, I believe.” 

Harry scowled. “Nothing gets past you, sir.”

Shacklebolt nodded gravely. “That is my job, young Potter.” Though Harry heard the note of amusement in it, it was a clear dismissal. 

Harry bowed and left. He supposed he was free to return home and sleep. By the looks of it, he might be able to get one or two hours still.

He let out the yawn he had been holding back for a while.

“Rough night, was it?”

Harry stiffened at the smarmy voice. Cormac McLaggen, Deputy Head of the Aurors and Harry’s immediate superior, had never bother concealing his dislike for Harry. And in turn, Harry had found McLaggen insufferable, too prone to boast of achievements which shone less upon second look.

“It was alright,” Harry said neutrally. “I’m about to head out for some sleep.” Harry made to leave when McLaggen said:

“Must be great, having your name all over the front page again, isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry sighed inwardly. McLaggen was in a pugnacious mood, it seemed, and didn’t appear like he was planning to let Harry leave peacefully.

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t,” Harry snapped. “It’s a damn nuisance and it makes my job harder.”

McLaggen raised an eyebrow. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we?”

“It’s hard to have your sangfroid when I’m out on the street actually doing my job,” Harry said sharply. 

“Watch your tone, Potter,” McLaggen warned. “You might be Shacklebolt and the Minister’s favorite, but I’m still your immediate superior.”

Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes. The prospect of some rest tonight was fading ever dimmer, and Harry’s jacket smelled too strongly of singed fabric for him to relax. 

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said, emphasizing the last word with all the disdain he could muster. “It’s been a long night.”

McLaggen narrowed his eyes. “I want a full report of the incident in the morning.”

With a supreme act of patience, Harry managed to stop himself from strangling the man. He wasn’t exempt from prosecution for murder, however justifiable it might be. “I already gave my report to Shacklebolt. You do know that just because you rank immediately above me doesn’t mean I report to you, don’t you?” As an afterthought, Harry added: “Sir.”

McLaggen’s face mottled. Harry added: “It was his idea. He thought it might cut through the layers of bureaucracy and that you have better things to do than listen to me.”

Harry probably shouldn’t goad McLaggen like this. He knew that it was unsporting of him, particularly when it was rumored that McLaggen might be shunted off to the side when the next quarterly evaluation came. The man was under immense pressure to show results, and no matter he blustered, tin could only be polished so much and still never resemble even silver. 

Maybe if Harry hadn’t been promoted the way he did, then McLaggen wouldn’t view Harry as such a threat. But none of that had been in Harry’s control any more than it had been in McLaggen’s power to affect. Perhaps if he was a wiser man, McLaggen would recognize this.

If McLaggen was a wiser man, then he probably wouldn’t be in this line of work in the first place, Harry thought wryly. There were plenty of sinecures in the Ministry that a man with McLaggen’s connections could obtain. However, Deputy Head of the Aurors wasn’t one of those.

The Auror Force was formed when it was deemed that the ordinary Law Enforcement Agency was no longer capable of handling the more specialized operations that dealt with crimes concerning information and national security. Cybercrime, counterintelligence, and extremist activity were all within the purview of the Aurors. Elixir was a special case – it was theoretically under a joint task force between Law Enforcement and the Aurors. However, because of interagency fighting and the lack of funds, investigating the supply of Elixir gradually became the responsibility of the Aurors. 

They were the elite. All the Auror personnel were tough and resourceful, and all had various degrees of cybernetic prosthetics, with enhanced bio-hydraulics and modifications to the musculature and skeleton, allowing for greater speed and strength of an average man. And all of them had neural chip implants that connected them to either personalized SI assistants like Hedwig or one of the Auror SI analysts. 

Harry supposed it was natural that men like McLaggen, hot-blooded and eager for recognition, were drawn to this branch of the National Security Department. He couldn’t imagine McLaggen as an Unspeakable working in the Department of Mysteries, unable to boast of even the smallest success. It would be a special hell for him, Harry reflected with grim humor. 

“Hedwig will be done with the report of my experience by tomorrow morning and Finnegan should have another providing an overview of the entire case finished,” Harry said, in a concession. He just wanted to return home to his bed, or at least take a hot shower. “If you come by my desk tomorrow, I’ll give you a copy.”

McLaggen nodded. He knew not to push further. “Alright.”

Harry left before waiting for a dismissal. He itched for hot water and the freedom out of his suit.

~~

Harry managed to return to Grimmauld Place without any further interruptions. It was an older flat, in a less than reputable part of London, but at least it was in the City and comfortable enough for a single man. 

He ducked under the low hanging doorway into a rather dim room with a strong odor of mothballs. There was a touch-tome lying on an armchair patched with over with suede, and a console two models older than the current one in use at the corner.

Harry didn’t use it much. It had been his godfather’s, like most of the furnishings in this place, and Harry had never bothered to replace or throw most of them out. Harry had Hedwig, whose speed and connectivity to the Web made it more than an adequate replacement for any civilian console. And if Harry needed to do anything more involved than scroll through the day’s headlines, he always had the Auror computers.

I estimate that if you shower in under a minute, you should be able to get two hours worth of sleep in, Hedwig told him. I will formulate and compile the report that you promised McLaggen.

I didn’t promise McLaggen anything, Harry thought back to Hedwig. It was giving him a headache to use the neural connection. Out loud, he said, “I only told him he was welcome to look at it once I file the report.”

“In any case, I will begin work on it,” Hedwig said, her voice coming over hidden speakers in the room. “You should shower. Is there anything you wish to keep out of the report?”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean? Why would I want to keep anything out?”

“Your interest in Draco Malfoy bordered on levels considered inappropriate,” Hedwig said. “It would appear that you had some impressions of him which would indicate that you were attracted to him. If you wish, I can include your interaction of him in the report and frame your reaction to him as annoyance.”

“Well, he is annoying,” Harry said, but he was distracted by the unpleasant reminder that he needed to be more discreet. He let out a slow breath. “Include that I had spoken with him briefly. But that’s all.” 

“Understood.”

Under the jet of water pounding his back, Harry thought back to Malfoy and what Hedwig had said. “…interest in Draco Malfoy bordered on levels considered inappropriate….” 

He had to remind himself to be discreet. Though he was in a position of trust and favor at the moment, Harry understood all too well that any act of carelessness could bring everything he worked for into ignominy. Harry knew he was scrutinized by others, most doing so out of curiosity for a minor celebrity with the novelty of having achieved his fame by being good at his job, but others had a less benign goal. Harry knew McLaggen, for one, would love to hear of anything that could hurt Harry.

And more than just his reputation. The strict laws and code of conduct that governed society meant that sexual impropriety at best, an offense that meant financial and professional damage, and at worse, meant involuntary incarceration. 

Not that Harry had committed any with Malfoy, of course. But it was a fear now, one that laced the air like a poisonous miasma, that any sign of unconformity or deviancy was a threat and had to be dealt with accordingly. Only in Underground were attitudes more relaxed, which only added to the sense of its degeneracy. 

Harry didn’t live Underground. Nor did he wish to. He had ambitions, dreams which were yet unfulfilled, and if he had to defer his personal nature, or at the very least be unobtrusive, then so be it. 

He examined his reflection in the shower door. A face that was a bit on the thin side; a body that was a bit on the thin side, though lean from the mandatory physical training all Aurors did to maintain their effectiveness in the field and aided by the bio-mechanical prosthetics in his body.

It was a pleasing image that stared back at Harry through the mist. Nothing too special, though Harry had had occasional lovers compliment his eyes and how he could never hide his emotions with such an expressive mouth. It was a bit of a joke whenever they told Harry that, given how Harry had to keep his partners hidden from prying eyes.

They were never frequent or long, his liaisons. Men met through the chatrooms on the Web, through layers of secrecy and encrypted identity, that were willing to risk ruin for a momentary mitigation of loneliness with physical intimacy. 

It was an unsatisfying and nerve-wracking experience, though Harry was familiar with more than most that the Law Enforcement Agency rarely spent its time masquerading as bait to entrap men indulging their vice. They were simply too stretched for resources. And the Aurors most definitely did not, seeing this sort of work as beneath them. Though monitoring these sorts of behavior and accumulating information on them was a different matter – once or twice, Harry had read in the files of high-ranking officials or captains of industry notes which marked out embarrassing or devastating facts on their personal life.

Harry hoped there was not such a dossier on him. He was exceedingly careful, and Hedwig was sophisticated enough to avoid detection by most of the spywares used by the Ministry. 

This hiding was soul draining. Not least because Harry had to admit he did want someone to hold at night. He did want to return to this flat with a partner waiting for him to share the comings and goings of his day, and for Harry to listen and jibe with, in turn.

Unbidden, a pair of grey eyes swam into Harry’s mind, paired with that faint, sardonic smile that was both infuriating and challenging. Harry wondered how it would feel under his lips.

He shook his head. It must be the exhaustion, if Harry was fantasying in his shower about someone he had just met. 

Drying himself off quickly with his towel, Harry sank back into his mattress. It was hard tonight; Hedwig must have sensed Harry’s agitation and programmed it to be more resistant than usual, instead of its typical softness. Harry enjoyed that – it was much better than suffocating in a sea of heated down material. 

“Lumes off,” Harry said. “And set my alarms. I think tomorrow will be a long day.”

~~

“What do we have here?” Harry asked. “Why have we’ve been called in?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Finnegan said, and he did look puzzled, scratching his head like the very picture of confoundment. “I only received word that we needed to leave a few minutes ago.”

Harry had only been in the office for less than two hours before Finnegan had all but hauled him off to one of the somber-colored official hovercars that the Aurors used when discretion over speed was called for. 

Harry thought it had been a ploy by Finnegan to save him from McLaggen. Harry had spotted McLaggen’s burly frame coming down the hallway to his door when Finnegan burst in and told Harry he had to leave. With a hastily given shrug, Harry had allowed himself to be rushed to the car park.

“You don’t know anything either?” That was odd. Aurors weren’t called in for the average crime, and Harry was considered too high-ranked now to be used on cases which either required his experience and skillset, or needed someone with enough profile to reassure the masses.

Finnegan shook his head. “Nothing. The dispatch only told me that we needed someone that was Inspector grade and above, and you’re the only one that’s not assigned anything right now since we finished our case last night.”

Ah. That made sense. The machinery of State was efficient when it wanted to.

“I hope it’s not guard duty,” Harry mused. Those were never pleasant. Last month, Harry had somehow gotten stuck nursemaiding a visiting foreign dignitary who treated Harry like his personal assistant, and attempted to sneak off with a handful of the Crown Jewels from the Tower. 

There had been bright spots in that visit, though. Like Zabini. Harry supposed in other countries, there were relatively more relaxed atmospheres, and Zabini had been more than willing to pursue and bed Harry. Even now, the sensations of Zabini’s firm chest under Harry’s hands and the swell of his cock in the man’s mouth was enough to tide Harry through another dry spell of celibacy. 

“I don’t think so,” Finnegan said, pulling Harry out from his recollection. Harry wondered if he should have Hedwig release some medbots to take care of his semi-hard erection. That would be an egregious waste, he decided, and he shifted in his seat instead.

“It has something to do with Elixir,” Finnegan said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He didn’t need to do much actual driving; the AI responsible for controlling the car did most of the work. It communicated with the traffic grid on the correct velocity and acceleration, and Harry and Finnegan cruised along without so much as a jerk. “That the dispatch did mention.” He gave a crooked grin at Harry. “Guess it’s a good thing that we’re so familiar with the drug. Aren’t we, sir?”

“I suppose,” Harry said. His back was firm against the leather seat. Harry had managed to sleep for an hour before his alarm, and it was getting to him. His energy was flagging. “At least it means I get to skip the presser today.”

“It should be on now,” Finnegan said. He indicated the control panel. “Should I play it, sir?”

“No,” Harry said hastily. “No, it’s alright. Besides, we know what’s going to be said, anyways. The drug situation is under control, we can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, all available resources are being allocated to deal with the any potential conflicts between criminal gangs invested in selling Elixir, etc.”

Finnegan grinned. “Sounds like you’re an old hand at this.”

Releasing stimulant neurotransmitter, Hedwig thought. My sensors indicate that you require some sort of stimulant to function. You are on the verge of falling asleep.

All right, Harry agreed reluctantly. He didn’t see the point of fiddling with his brain chemistry for something so minor, but he trusted Hedwig to keep track of the levels released. 

I will, Hedwig promised. I receive millisecond updates from the medbots in your bio-mechanical prosthetics, and should be able to adjust before anything becomes remotely dangerous.

Harry thanked Hedwig.

“You can sleep for a bit, sir,” Finnegan said, his eyes on Harry. He had worked with Harry long enough to know the tell-tale signs of fatigue. “I can wake you when we get to our destination.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said. He wondered what Finnegan thought about Harry’s strange refusal to allow his bio-enhancements to do its job and boost Harry’s performance. It had been remarked by some of his past partners and superiors when he had been a junior officer. Harry had been exemplary otherwise and it had never grown to be an issue. 

Nonetheless, they rode the rest of the way in silence, Finnegan typing on his handheld and Harry staring out at the city. It was a stunning spread of crystalline spires mixed with traditional architecture. He allowed his mind to drift into meditative blankness as they crossed the Millennium Bridge, seeing the other hovercars and the hulking ships on the Thames. Overhead, there was the roar of the aeroplane headed to Heathrow. 

They had arrived in a respectable, if not exactly prestigious, neighborhood. Apartment buildings reached into the skies like metal fingers; here and there were a few trees that broke up the gray landscape of concrete and steel with some greenery. It was the sort of place a rising professional – single, perhaps recently attached with a partner – would live. Comfortable but not lavish.

They parked their car and got out on the landing strip of the hover quay. The building’s manager met them with a pinched, worried face.

“We kept the flat off limits to everyone since we called your office,” he said. His eyes darted between the two of them. “No one has been to the flat except for me.”

“Did he live alone?” Harry asked, more to break the squirming silence that would ensue had none of them answered the manager. Harry had already guessed the man would be, which was confirmed with a shaky yes.

The manager needed to control himself better, Harry thought annoyedly, as the man continued to chatter with questions about the potential bad reputation for the building, and how its security was well designed – 

“Wait.” Harry stopped in his tracks. “So none of the alarms were triggered?”

“No,” the manager said. He led them to the flat and keyed in the code. 

Hedwig, run a diagnostic on the security here, Harry thought. From outer appearance, that electronic lock seemed to be all there was to the manager’s vaunted “security”. Appearances were deceptive, however, especially when it came to surveillance.

Apart from the cams in the lobby and the hover quay, there are only the blast doors which are monitored by an AI, Hedwig told Harry. The AI is run-of-the-mill and not terribly sophisticated, but from my analysis, it seems to be able to do its job properly. Every flat also has an emergency line to the porter’s desk.

Anything else?

There was no irregularity noted in any of the systems except for one energy spike, Hedwig said. It wasn’t a big energy spike, but it was one deviation from the norm the building usually sees.

“Are you alright, sir?” the manager asked.

Harry realized he had stopped in the middle of the hallway for a split second. He always forget that conversing with an SI looked odd to outsiders; all they could see was him making faces without context.

“Yes,” Harry said. Finnegan gave Harry a look of amusement. Finnegan, too, had experienced more than once these kinds of odd looks. “Lead the way, sir.”

It was not a particularly noteworthy flat of any kind. Bland, with moderately priced furniture looked like it was ordered from a digital catalogue. The room was decorated with the taste of someone who saw a picture from a glossy and attempted to transpose it to life. There was a small console meant for home use and nothing more involved in the corner, a small doorway leading to the what appeared like the kitchen, and a smart-couch that responded to a person’s stress and attempted to match its own softness for muscle relaxations. All very typical. 

Except for the body slumped on the floor.

It was a man. He was half dressed, in his undershirt and trousers, bareheaded and barehanded. His shirtsleeves were rolled up halfway, exposing the man’s veins. They were bright blue against the skin.

There was a small vial in one of his hands.

Harry knelt down. With one gloved fingertip, he poked at the vial. It was uncapped, and a small blue pill rolled out.

Harry sucked in his breath.

“Is that …” Finnegan sounded just as disconcerted as Harry felt.

“Yes.” All the signs fit. Harry knew it only too well. He had seen too many pictures and surveyed too many bodies not to be familiar.

“What is it, sir?” the manager asked, who apparently was not as worldly as either Harry or Finnegan. “What happened to him?”

“It’s Elixir,” Finnegan answered shortly while Harry looked around. There were no evidence of a struggle, only the marks of a lived-in flat. The kettle was on the stove, still lukewarm, and a bottle of wine on the counter that was unopened. Nothing in the bedroom either, after Harry took a cursory walk around. 

“Elixir?” The manager’s face contorted. “But we’re a respectable building – we don’t have that sort here. We screen our prospective tenants before we let any flat; you can check the records –”

“All sorts use Elixir,” Finnegan said.

“But – I thought – only the scum in Underground use Elixir –”

“All sorts,” Harry repeated Finnegan’s words. There was something in his tone that cut off the manager’s stammers. Harry disliked this man already, and his manner was bumbling and narrowminded. Though no more than most of the Ministry officials he worked with, Harry reminded himself.

Speaking off … Harry spotted a glint in the man’s breast pocket and fished it out. 

“That’s a Ministry access card,” Finnegan said. “It allows access to the Ministry network on the Web from any console, including ones made for civilian use.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I think I understand why we were called in now. Imagine how it would look if a Ministry official was found dead of an Elixir overdose, as it does with what happened here. The press would riot in celebration. After all that talk from Fudge on cracking down, here is one of his men dead from using the very substances Fudge is trying to ban.”

“I suppose that’s the only reason why we’re here,” Finnegan said with resentment. “To make sure that the death is handled discreetly.” He turned to the manager. “I think we have a mutual interest in keeping this quiet, don’t you? After all, if word gets out that your building is a drug haven ….”

The manager flinched visibly. “Yes, of course. I’ll go and report to my superiors. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.” He left with more alacrity than Harry thought was required for the occasion.

“So what do we do now, sir?” Finnegan asked, staring at the body. “Write that the man died of natural causes in our report? This man isn’t important enough to warrant media attention from the looks of it. I’ve never seen him before.”

“What is his job?” Harry asked. “Do we know?”

Finnegan raised his hand. There was a flash of light from his cuff as his wristlink took a picture of the deceased. It spoke in a tinny voice: “Image identified as Hopkirk, Department of Transportation, Grade 5A.”

“That’s all?” Finnegan frowned. “Usually there’s more information. Useless information, but still, more than this.” 

That was odd. Harry spoke aloud to Hedwig: “Hedwig, what do you make of this?”

“Accessing Ministry database for Hopkirk, Hopkirk, Department of Transportation, Grade 5A.” After a moment, Hedwig said: “Access is denied under insufficient clearance.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean? I don’t have clearance to access the man’s file?”

There was a beat. Then Hedwig said: “You do not. Only the Head and Deputy Head have sufficient clearance to access this information.”

Harry glowered at the body. That was irritating. But there was excitement blossoming in his chest. This twist added some color to an otherwise banal example of modern life. “Hedwig, how else can you access the file?”

“You can ask permission from either Shacklebolt or McLaggen,” Hedwig said. Finnegan shot Harry a look. Harry could sympathize. That involved more paperwork, and inevitably, Finnegan would be the one saddle with it. “Or I can hack it.”

Harry glanced at Finnegan, who only looked amused.  
“I seem to have an issue with my optical lenses,” Finnegan said. “And my ears. I don’t seem to be able to understand anything right now. Must be a glitch.”

Harry grinned. “Alright. Do it, Hedwig.”

There was silence for a minute or so. Then Hedwig said: “Hopkirk is an Unspeakable with the Department of Mysteries, in the research department. His cover is an employee with the Department of Transportation.”

Both men froze. Harry was glad that the manager had left already.

The Department of Mysteries … what their work was remained shrouded in secrecy, though Harry knew that they undertook much of the Ministry’s research and development. Harry also knew that they shared with the Auror Force the responsibility of monitoring the Web.

“That man’s an Unspeakable?” Finnegan chewed his lip. “I think I understand why we’re sent now. They definitely do not want anyone else catching wind of this business.”

“Yes.” This would definitely fall under the Auror Force’s umbrella. “That means we need to be thorough in our report. We also need to check everything in this room to make sure nothing of Hopkirk’s work is left in the open.”

“In that case, I’ll have a back up team sent up to –”

“No.” Harry made a split second decision. “This needs to be discreet. We can’t bring any more men into this or it’ll attract attention. You and I will need to do this ourselves.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll start in the kitchen.”

After a few minutes of looking around, Harry’s eyes fell on the console. There was nothing else in the room which appeared out of the ordinary. “Hedwig, access the console.”

“I cannot do so wirelessly,” Hedwig replied. “This console has a security protocol that prevents me from establishing a connection.”

“Really? You can hack the Auror database but not a home console?”

“I used your existing account and clearance as well as my own intimate knowledge of the database structure to find gaps in the Auror protections,” Hedwig said. She sounded rather miffed. “On the other hand, I do not have any preexisting knowledge of this console’s system, except its defenses are much more sophisticated than the average.”

Harry supposed it made sense, given the identity of its owner. Unspeakables were human too; they might occasionally want to work from home.  
“I’ll do it manually then,” Harry said. He sat at the chair and powered on the screen. A beep indicated it was on. 

Harry saw the wrist-prong lying by the side. He removed one of the cufflink that contained Hedwig’s Core and unbuttoned his cuff. It was a simple model compared to the ones in the Ministry office, but it was still far beyond the norm for home computers. Harry supposed the deceased did work at home often enough to justify this addition. 

As he clicked in the wrist-prong to the inner socket of his wrist, Harry leaned back, ignoring the slight tickling of static electricity running up his arm. It was just a trick of the mind; Harry knew that the fiberoptics connecting to his internal bio-mechanical enhancements wouldn’t affect his nervous system. The digital signals sent by the computer traveled along in a parallel path, where it was processed by Harry’s implanted brain-chips.

“Receiving signal from console,” Hedwig said aloud. “How do you want to engage?”

“Activate full immersion,” Harry said.

Then he closed his eyes.

When he opened it again, he was in a room just like the flat. Harry knew this was an optical trick of the brain-chip. It processed data in a way to allow Harry to make sense of it. It was a good facsimile, the only difference being that the hue was much brighter and there were no windows.

“This is a lack of imagination,” Hedwig’s voice sounded, with a note of disapproval. “He could have set up his main console home as anything and he decided to go with his boring flat.”

Harry chuckled. “Not everyone has your style.” 

“True,” Hedwig acknowledged without irony. “I shouldn’t expect so much from humans.”

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes and looked around the room. Everything appeared in order. There was nothing that appeared immediately out of place; Harry could spend some time exploring, but he was reluctant to be more intrusive than was necessary. 

“What looks out of place?” Harry asked Hedwig. “Anything stand out to you?”

“I forget how these kinds of simulations look to you humans,” Hedwig said. “Let me see. Nothing. Except for that folio on the coffee table.” 

Harry had skipped over it in his first perusal. “Is it safe to approach?” There were cyber defenses that, approached carelessly, would shred the uninvited toucher. These computer programs could damage Harry’s biomechanical systems or even give him brain damage should Harry underestimate them.

“My scans show no sign of anything,” Hedwig said. 

Harry picked up the folio and opened it. 

It was blank.

“There’s nothing here,” Harry said with confusion. “It’s a blank file.”

“That’s the encryption,” Hedwig said, with annoyance. “That’s what stands out about the file here. Everything else is pretty standard, if you discount the fact that a home console is so sophisticated as to include a virtual reality immersion connection. But what’s truly interesting is that this file is the only one with enough digital protection that I can’t break through.”

“I thought you can break through anything,” Harry said snidely.

“I cannot do so unaided,” Hedwig said. For a computer, she sounded remarkably touchy. “I would need more energy than what my mini-generators provide me with to run the matches that could break through. It’s a very difficult encryption.”

It didn’t look that difficult to Harry. Just blank.

“I’ll bring it back to the office to analyze, then,” Harry said. “You’re certain that there’s nothing wrong with it otherwise? No hidden computer viruses or anything?”

“None that I could find,” Hedwig said. “Still, to be on the safe side, I’ll compartmentalize it and put the file in a container.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I think that’s all that’s here, right? If that’s the case, then I’ll exit out of the sim now.”

“Initiating exit protocol.”

In under a second, Harry was back in the dully colored flat with the sunlight streaming through the window. The whole interaction in the console had only taken a few minutes, helped by the processing power of Harry’s brain-chips. 

Finnegan emerged from the bedroom. “I didn’t find anything, sir,” he said. “What about you?”

“There’s a file on the man’s console that I want to take a look at back at the office,” Harry said. “It’s encrypted in a way that SI can’t break easily.” That was the most surprising; despite Harry’s ribbing, Sentient Intelligence was in Harry’s experience one of the most efficient and effective cryptographers. 

“Could it be related to his work as an Unspeakable?” Finnegan asked. “Because in that case, we would need to be careful. We don’t want to tread on another department’s territory.”

“Then they should have sent their own team to investigate,” Harry said. “Come on, let’s go back to the office.”

~~

They had been at the office for hours now. Harry’s eyes were blurry with fatigue from staring at the screen and, next to him, Finnegan let out a loud yawn.

“You can go home first,” Harry said. “I don’t think you’re actually physically needed. The SI analysts can handle this. You get some rest. I’ll have someone inform you when we’re done.”

“The same goes for you, sir,” Finnegan said. “You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I have some other work to catch up on,” Harry said. “Besides, I have a strange feeling that I need to be here, in case there’s something sensitive that can’t be communicated over the Web.”

“What do you mean ‘can’t be communicated over the Web’? Our lines are the most secured out of all the Ministry.”

“Yes….” Harry looked at the console unseeingly. “But this does affect the Ministry, and in a way that might have big implications. I don’t want to take any chances.” He was thinking about the leak – somewhere – that had betrayed the drug raid to Dolohov and Pettigrew. If it was someone on the Elixir task force, that was one matter. But if it related to their Web comms, then that would be problematic….

“You think it might have big implications, sir?” Finnegan asked. “I mean, it’s a drug overdose. We’ve seen plenty of these so far in what we’ve been doing. The only difference is that this time, the identity of the user is an Unspeakable.”

“And there’s a heavily encrypted file that’s just lying basically in public.” Harry drummed his fingers thoughtfully. “I think there has to be something deeper.”

“But sir, maybe the deceased – Hopkirk – just wanted to work at home. It might just be a coincidence that he has left the file out. By all rights, we should have just returned the file to the Department of Mysteries and finished our report on the case. And that will be the end of that.”

Finnegan was right. That was what they should have done. Yet Harry’s instinct stayed him from taking the easy path. It was bothering him, like an itch on his back that his hands were too short to reach, a premonition that there was more to the case than the surface facts.

Harry wasn’t sure whether he was simply looking for trouble or that he had actually smelled a crime. The facts were simple and neat. A little too neat, but in Harry’s experience, sometimes the most logical explanation was the reality. 

He sighed. “You might be right, but we should have the answer soon. I can’t believe it’s taking this long for the SI cryptographers to figure it out. They should have been done at least an hour ago.”

“I heard that the Department of Mysteries’ SI models are the most advanced. Perhaps ours are just not good enough.”

“Don’t let any of them hear that,” Harry warned. “Or you’ll find your life here will get very difficult indeed.”

Finnegan snorted. “Not a chance. I’m not that stupid. Imagine if all my reports suddenly become riddled with spelling errors.”

“Yes, imagine that,” Harry said dryly. 

The console beeped.

“After our analysis, it appears that we do not have clearance to access the file,” the computer said.

Harry reminded himself that it was unseemly to vent irritation with software. “I know that,” he said, with every ounce of patience he had. “But I’m asking you to break the encryption, not determine whether we have clearance to access the file.” 

“I am afraid our systems cannot break through the file’s defenses,” the SI said. “We tried everything but nothing worked.”

Harry and Finnegan both stared.

“That’s impossible,” Finnegan said. “You mean you can’t break the encryption?”

“Is it because you need more computing power?” Harry asked. “Or assistance from the other SI in the office?”

“The file’s firewall is well protected and we cannot bypass it,” the SI said. “It isn’t a matter of resources. We simply are not able to penetrate it.”  
Harry swore. After all those hours spent waiting. This was frustrating – he knew that there would be a clue in these files.

“Sir,” Finnegan said, “we did discuss the possibility of the Department of Mysteries’ cyber defenses being better than ours. Maybe this is a sign that we should just return the file to them and continue with our work.”

Harry wasn’t so ready to admit defeat. “Have you found anything at all about the file?” he demanded of the computer. “Anything useful? A clue of any kind as to its nature?”

“We spotted similarities in this file’s encryption that matches the signatures of several military projects in the Ministry,” the SI said. “Those were designed in part by a contractor, so it could be that this file’s protection is also created by the same person.”

“Can we tract them?” Harry asked.

“There are several patents linked to the military projects held by an entity called the Narcissa Trust,” the computer said. “We investigated further and found that this trust has several layers of legal veils and shell companies that all originated here in London.”

Well, that meant at least Harry didn’t need to leave the city to investigate further.

“A preliminary analysis of this situation suggests to me that you are exceeding far beyond the call of duty in this matter, Commander Potter,” the computer said. “From past situations, Aurors have been called in to provide a discreet cover for what otherwise would be a scandal that could bring down the government. This does not involve further examination of the facts.” There was a pause, then the computer added, “Rather the reverse.”

Harry glowered. First Finnegan and now this computer. He was tempted to unplug it.

“Thank you,” Harry said curtly. “I’ll keep looking into this for now, until I’m ordered to stop. Do you have a physical address for any of these shell companies?”

“They are registered to several post office boxes and legal firms in the City,” the computer replied. “I can provide a list for you.”

“Do that.”

Harry looked at Finnegan. “Do you think I should give this up?”

“It’s up to you, sir,” Finnegan said. “I’m behind whatever your decision is, but I just want to remind you that the sooner you close this case, the sooner we can worry about one less thing.”

Harry let out an exhale. “I know. But I can’t help feeling that there’s something wrong about all of this. Everything is too neat.”

The computer beeped again.

“Is that the list?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” the computer said. “I cannot provide the list to you. I do not have permission.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have permission?” Finnegan asked. “It’s just a list, isn’t it?”

“I can only provide this list with the Head Auror’s express permission,” the console said. “Him, or any other Head of Department.”

Only Shacklebolt …. Not even his deputy McLaggen, though Harry was secretly relieved that he wouldn’t need to beg McLaggen for any favors. 

“That’s unusual,” Finnegan said. “I understand not having clearance to a Department of Mysteries file, but to not be able to access information that should be available to us in any other typical investigation – that’s extremely odd.”

“You’re saying the only way I could have the list is if I asked Shacklebolt?” Harry clarified. “Otherwise, you’re prevented from providing it to me?”

“That is correct,” came the console’s reply. 

“Well,” Harry put on a smile for Finnegan. “That’s easily remedied. I’ll just go find him right now.”

Harry was deep in thought as he walked down the hallway. There were a few questions that he didn’t understand about this Hopkirk’s death. Not to mention the circumstances surrounding his file. 

Maybe he should have confided in Shacklebolt from the beginning. It hadn’t occurred to Harry to do so; Harry knew that were it not for the bureaucratic restrictions, he could have well managed on his own. 

Shacklebolt issued a crisp invitation when Harry knocked on the door.

“What is it?” Shacklebolt asked. “You typically don’t come into my office for anything unless I call for you.”

“I need your permission for the SI to give me a list. I’m pursuing a lead and I can’t continue unless I have this list.”  
“This the case about the dead Unspeakable?”

Harry nodded. 

“You know, most people would have closed the case by now.” Shacklebolt gave Harry a searching look. “What is your interest in this?”

“Instinct. I think there’s something that’s wrong with it. It’s too typical, and all the facts fit too well.”

“That’s the nature of facts,” Shacklebolt pointed out. “They fit the logic of a situation and explain what happened. You know as well as I that not everything is a conspiracy.”

Harry couldn’t disagree with that. “With your permission, sir, I would like to make sure. Besides,” he added, “this concerns an Unspeakable. We always need to be careful where they’re concerned. National security secrets and all that.”

Shacklebolt steepled his fingers. “Harry, you don’t need to work so hard to prove yourself. We all know how good you are. No one is going to think any less of you if you follow what others did in cases like these.”

“Have there been a lot of other cases like these?” Harry asked, ignoring the advice. 

Shacklebolt sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately. Why else do you think we joined the Elixir task force? It’s growing to be a real problem. But it’s not a phenomenon that more diligent policing can solve. You know that too.”

Unfortunately, Harry did. All too well.

Finally, Harry said, “Let me indulge my curiosity. I promise you: if I don’t find anything suspicious in three days, I’ll close the case.”

“It’s a deal.”

“So,” Harry said, now that the uncomfortable part of the conversation was finished, “can I have your permission for the SI to give me the list?”

“Of course,” Shacklebolt said. “In fact, I’m rather curious to see what it is too. You’ve got me rather curious.” He turned to his own console. “Grant permission for Commander Potter, Case Number 7A.”

“Voice identification verified as Shacklebolt, Kingsley, Auror Force Head,” the console said. “Granting permission to Potter, Harry, Commander, Auror Force, for Case Number 7A.”

A list of names and addresses was projected by Shacklebolt’s console system. “Analysis: all these listed have one factor in common.”

“What is it?” Shacklebolt asked.

“They are all either properties of the Malfoy family or on retainer to them. Analysis: the Malfoy family holds the patents for these security measures that is the subject of Commander Potter’s inquiry.”

“Malfoy ….” Shacklebolt scratched his chin musingly. “I haven’t thought about them in a long time.” He turned to Harry suddenly. “You met the son, Draco, I believe?”

“Yes,” Harry said, startled by the intensity in Shacklebolt’s eyes. He wondered if despite Hedwig’s precautions, she had still somehow let slip Harry’s momentary attraction.

But – “He’s the head of the family now, I suppose, after his parents’ death. I guess he has the answers to what you’re looking for.”

“Why would he be involved in this?” Harry asked. He wasn’t opposed to seeing Malfoy again. Those grey eyes ….

“I don’t know,” Shacklebolt said. “But I do know that you need to be careful with him.”

“Is it that business with his father?”

“I didn’t know you knew about that,” Shacklebolt said. “It’s not a secret, but time passes, and most people forget about their history. And we did try not to broadcast the finer details of that coup all those years ago.”

“I wouldn’t forget,” Harry said, and the lightning scar on his forehead twinged. “But I would admit I don’t much about the details of what happened, except for what Riddle did. His helpers and such – I didn’t follow much of the trials after.”

“It’s ancient history now,” Shacklebolt said, staring at the holo-projection. “Or it feels like it. In any case, young Malfoy had nothing to do with Riddle’s coup. I believe he was under car at St. Mungo’s hospital at the time, undergoing treatment for the injuries he sustained when he was kidnapped as a child.”

“Oh.” A spark of pity twisted Harry’s chest. “But the media still think he had something to do with it?”

Shacklebolt gave a faint smile. “Did you hear that from Finnegan or Padma? They’re the only two who follows the gossip blogs that closely. I don’t think he had anything to do with Riddle except for having the misfortune of being in a family that fell under Riddle’s sway.”

“I had no idea that the Ministry would allow a family like Malfoys to hold so many important patents,” Harry mused. 

“Oh no, the Ministry didn’t,” Shacklebolt said. “The Ministry confiscated or froze most of the Malfoy family assets except for their ancestral home in Wiltshire and the one freehold in London. Something about unalienable grants by the Crown. The young Malfoy had to start over, and most of his wealth now comes from the Web innovations the boy patented himself.”

Harry stared. “What?”

“Oh yes. Draco Malfoy is one of the world’s most renowned cybershrink.”

Not just a Web engineer, but a cybershrink. Someone who worked to develop Sentient Intelligences and ensure that their personalities and programming remained stable – and more importantly, stayed within the bounds of ethical parameters.

“He also published a paper about bio-mechanical systems and their components linking to the Web as his Academy thesis,” Shacklebolt said. “I think that one made it possible for your Hedwig to work with your system so well. Otherwise, I think you’d probably will have to rely on vocalized commands to communicate with her.”

That was impressive. And given how expensive and painstakingly complex these systems were, it would make sense for Malfoy to be as wealthy as he appeared. 

“He’s been involving himself in politics now,” Shacklebolt said. “Meetings with Fudge, discreet efforts to rehabilitate his family name. It’s interesting that his name should appear in the course of all this. Of course, this could all be coincidence.”

“In any case,” Harry said, “Malfoy appears to be the best person to answer my questions. And if you have any other questions for him, or suspicions, I’d be happy to pass that along too.”

Shacklebolt shook his head. “You need to be discreet. Not only does he have the ear of the Minister, but many of our systems depend on his codes to work. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Harry grinned at Shacklebolt. “When have I ever done that?”

Chuckling, Shacklebolt turned back to his console. “You know better than me. But be careful. Now that I’m aware of this, I share your feeling that there is much more to this than meets the eye.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “I will be as discreet and professional as I could possibly be.”

“Great. Maybe you can ask him for a checkup of Hedwig and your bio-mechanical systems. You’re due for one anyways.”


End file.
